


The Ending that Comes Before the Beginning

by iodhadh



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambassadoria Politics, Angst, Background Maevaris/Thorold, Breakups, Dwarf Rilienus, M/M, Minor Character Death, Venatori, We May Have Made Some Mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iodhadh/pseuds/iodhadh
Summary: Dorian Pavus makes enemies, Rilienus Aratack courts disaster, and the Ambassadoria strikes an uneasy deal with a budding political power. Tevinter has never been especially kind to wayward hearts.





	The Ending that Comes Before the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coveredinfeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/gifts).



> This story went through so many different phases before it actually became something fit to be seen in public, oh my god. Thanks are owed to Katie, beta extraordinaire and eternal sounding board.
> 
> Dear recip: here's another Rilienus for your collection. Hope you like it!

**Solis, 9:35 Dragon**

The Tilani estate in Minrathous was lit up like a championship Proving, a warm riot of runecrafted lights and glittering gemstone embellishment. Rilienus was given to understand that it was only occupied during the periods that the Magisterium was in session, but it didn’t look like a lesser-loved second home tonight. This was the best Tevinter had to offer, and it knew that.

Rilienus was also given to understand that Maevaris Tilani threw the best parties in Minrathous, Qarinus, or anywhere else in the Imperium—or at least the ones that most skillfully deployed the correct amount of scandal, which of course made them dreadfully fashionable. But he wouldn’t have known: this was the first time he’d been to one.

Thorold Tethras was just inside the atrium, greeting guests as they entered the large open courtyard where the party was being held. His broad, bearded face lit up when he spotted Rilienus, and he came over immediately to clasp his hands and thump a fist against his chest in casual salute. “Aratack! Glad you could make it.”

“Tethras,” Rilienus said, warm and fond and glad to see another dwarf amongst all the humans. He’d known Thorold for years, though their positions had meant they’d rarely actually spoken in person. “Thank you for the invitation. It’s an honour to be here.”

“My wife’s doing, I assure you,” Thorold said cheerfully. “The honour’s all hers, I’m just the doorman. Congratulations on your recent appointment, by the way,” he added. “How are you adjusting?”

“Still getting used to the sky,” Rilienus admitted, then had to bite down a smile at Thorold’s guffaw. “I’m coming to terms with it. It’s a prestigious position, I don’t object to making adjustments.”

“It’s not so bad. You’ll be fine before you know it,” Thorold said. He clapped Rilienus’s shoulder. “Come on in, I’ll introduce you to Mae.”

He led Rilienus into the atrium, skirting the central fountain in a wide arc as he greeted all the guests in their path and presented Rilienus to them in turn. Rilienus filed their names and faces away in the mental library devoted to remembering the minutiae of political connection—honed since birth in the archives of the Ambassadoria—and smiled politely up at this brightly plumed collection of mages. He still got a crick in his neck from talking to humans all day.

Maevaris Tilani was a tall blonde dressed in shades of blue that set off her eyes magnificently. She broke off her conversation at Thorold’s approach, breaking into a smile that was entirely unfeigned. “Is this him?” she said, holding out her hand to Rilienus.

Rilienus took her fingers and swept a shallow bow to kiss her knuckles. “Delegate Rilienus Aratack, Magister Tilani. It’s an honour to meet you. Tethras has been singing your praises to half the Ambassadoria for the last year.” Privately Rilienus had always thought it odd for a dwarf to involve himself with a human, even such a thoroughly surfacer dwarf as Thorold, but now he could see the appeal. And from what Thorold had told him, she had the mind to match.

Maevaris laughed delicately. “Oh, aren’t you charming. I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation. It’s not often we have a representative of the Ambassadoria at one of our little soirées.”

“Magister Tilani, please, we both know you’re not doing this event the credit it deserves. There’s nothing little about it, and your estate is lovely.”

“Oh, I like you,” Maevaris said. “For that, Delegate, you can call me Mae.”

“In that case I must insist you call me Rilienus,” he returned.

“Well, I can see you’re getting on fabulously,” Thorold said. “I’ll leave you to Mae’s tender mercies, Aratack. Must get back to the door.” He gave Rilienus a wink and then bustled off, weaving an effortless path through his human guests as he made his way back to the entrance.

Maevaris smiled after him for a moment, then turned back to Rilienus. “Would you care to walk with me? I’d simply love to introduce you to everyone.”

Flaunting her connections to the Ambassadoria, of course, and reminding everyone in the room of her un-Magisterlike relationship. But Rilienus was happy to be a part of her acceptable touch of scandal: the more connections he made with the Magisterium set, the better his own position would grow. And so he bowed and said, “Mae, I would be delighted.”

They began their circuit, Maevaris pointing out the room’s prominent architectural features and artistic displays. A young man in a slave’s livery was circulating a tray with glasses of wine, and she lifted two as he passed and handed one down to Rilienus. “I’m given to understand you’re a recent arrival in Minrathous?” she said.

“A recent appointment,” Rilienus corrected, sipping the wine. It was good, if rather lighter than the drinks he was most accustomed to. “I’ve lived in Minrathous my entire life, but had never come to the surface before last month. The embassy is practically a city in its own right, and many of us never leave its confines. As the Ambassadoria’s appointed representative to the Magisterium, I have a special dispensation to come to the surface without losing my caste.”

“It’s always struck me as strange that your people’s status depends on never visiting the surface,” Maevaris said musingly. “Though I’ll grant the Magisterium is hardly less idiosyncratic. Still, a month is not much time. I can’t imagine you’re acquainted with many of the people here.”

“Most of them are strangers to me.”

“Well, let’s do something about that, shall we?”

Maevaris took him around the room, introducing him to every group they passed and drawing him into a few minutes of conversation before artfully excusing them and moving on to the next. It was one of the most skillful displays of social acumen that Rilienus had ever seen, and his mental file of new names and faces grew with every passing minute. He had finished his wine glass and started on a second by the time they had traversed the length of the atrium, where they found a young man in passionate conversation with a rather harassed-looking older woman.

Maevaris clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. “Dorian, darling, stop bickering with Magister Leocadia and come meet Rilienus.”

Dorian turned his attention to Maevaris; behind him, the apparent Magister Leocadia slipped away with palpable relief. Rilienus restrained a smile and made a shallow bow.

Dorian gave Rilienus a measuring glance, then raised a wry eyebrow in Maevaeris’s direction. “A friend of Thorold’s, I’m assuming.”

“Making assumptions about my race?” Rilienus said, drawing Dorian’s attention back down to him. “Not all dwarves know each other, you know. Of course, in this case you’re correct, but still, do be careful about that.”

Dorian’s eyebrows were making their way towards his hairline, and with a single shift of his weight he adopted a posture of languid disdain. “Let me guess, you’re a representative of the Merchant’s Guild? No, you don’t have the right air of vulgar wealth. Carta, perhaps? It strikes me as unlikely, but one mustn’t make assumptions, after all.”

It was getting harder and harder to restrain his smile. “I’m surprised the Carta is where your mind went next,” Rilienus said. “You must have some interesting associates. I’m afraid I’m in fact the Ambassadoria’s appointed representative in the Magisterium. Delegate Rilienus Aratack, at your service.”

“Oh, _Ambassadoria_ ,” Dorian said, as though that explained everything. “Then you’re the new delegate who’s been politely beating Gereon into the dirt. He’s been scrapping with them again,” he added in aside to Maevaris. “Something about import restrictions on his research materials, I’m not certain, I stopped listening after the first half hour. You’ve been making for some very trying dinner conversation, Delegate Aratack.”

In fact Rilienus had had several arguments with a magister by the name of Gereon recently. “It’s not my fault if Magister Alexius wants to be thoroughly unreasonable about our trade regulations,” he said. “I may be a recent appointment but I’m hardly inexperienced in politics. Perhaps you should advise him that I’m not going to be taken in by the unimaginative attempts at manipulation he’s been making, Altus—I’m sorry, I don’t believe I actually got your name.”

Dorian’s interest had been palpably sharpening as he spoke, and now he heaved an extravagant sigh. “Oh, if you insist,” he said, sweeping a courtly bow. “Dorian, heir to the of House of Pavus, Enchanter of the Vyrantium Circle and apprentice to Magister Gereon Alexius.”

Beside him, Maevaris was looking somewhere between wearied and delighted. “I suppose I’ll leave you both to it. Dorian, dear, do try not to cause a scene.”

“Maevaris, really,” Dorian said. “Since when have you ever objected to causing a scene?”

“It’s my party, dear, I deserve to be responsible for any and all scenes that one might cause.” She kissed Dorian’s cheek and smiled at Rilienus. “Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Dorian barely waited for her to leave before turning back to Rilienus. “The real problem is that the Ambassadoria is so dreadfully inflexible,” was his opening salvo. “The Magisterium is hardly a bastion of progressive thought, it’s true, but the stubbornness of the dwarves is rightly famous—or should I say infamous. If you would just recognize a necessary exception for legitimate magical experimentation—”

“We do,” Rilienus interrupted. “We have a specific proviso for academic research—by application, of course, which will be reviewed by the Ambassadoria’s import committee and approved, or rejected, within three months.”

“Oh, yes, three months, and then the time spent locating a supplier and arranging for shipping, by which point the research has quite moved on! We are speaking of the cutting edge of magical experimentation, Delegate, you must understand—”

Rilienus was quite pleased to be drawn into debate. While the Magisterium had its share of subtly cutting remarks and veiled sarcasm, he had spent the better part of the last month being politely introduced to the Tevinter upper crust and drawn into carefully politic debate. He had missed the vehemence that came of the casual familiarity of an Ambassadoria argument. Dorian was refreshingly sharp, and not shy about his opinions.

They had been arguing for nearly a quarter hour when Dorian abruptly broke off his latest diatribe, focusing on something just over Rilienus’s right shoulder. “Do you mind?” he said acidly. “We were attempting to have a conversation.”

“I could see that,” said the dark-haired woman Rilienus turned to see—Altus Felicitas Acosta, he recalled. “Or hear it, rather. In fact, half the atrium could hear it.”

“Oh, please, as if spirited political debate isn’t the backbone of any decent magisterial party,” Dorian said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

“If you were hoping to speak with Dorian, Altus Acosta—” Rilienus began, but Dorian cut him off.

“Don’t you dare, you’re the most interesting person I’ve yet met at one of these stuffy parties,” he said, turning his back on Altus Acosta with a decisive snap. “Excepting our lovely hosts, who are of course thoroughly charming in all ways. Perhaps we ought to take a turn in the gardens instead, so as not to offend dear Felicitas’s delicate sensibilities.”

Behind him, Altus Acosta sniffed and swept off in a swirl of her green and gold robes. Rilienus shifted his attention back to Dorian in a momentary assessment, then said, “The gardens, I assume, are quite secluded.”

“Nothing less,” Dorian assured him. “And also, very likely to be empty, as it’s still early enough in the evening that everyone is hanging off Mae’s every word, hoping her latest fashionable scandal will rub off on them. You know there are still people who won’t speak to her over her declaration to Thorold, and that was nearly six months ago.”

“He’s mentioned,” Rilienus said, his eyes lingering on Dorian’s face. He really was very handsome: young, classically beautiful, with a good moustache for a human, gold decorating both his ears, and clothing cut just a touch tighter and higher than the season’s fashion dictated. It was bold, almost brash—as brash as the unvarnished opinions he had been haranguing Rilienus with for the last fifteen minutes.

It made him stand out.

“Altus,” Rilienus said, “I would be delighted to accompany you on a walk through the gardens.”

The garden was, as promised, very private and nearly empty, with trellised vines shading the path and trees artfully pruned to both hide its wanderers from prying eyes and make the garden seem larger than it was. They continued idly bickering as they made their way down the winding trail until they came to a carved stone bench, tucked away in an alcove and concealed behind a perfumed fall of wisteria. Dorian nudged Rilienus through the flowers and was dropping to his knees almost before he was behind them himself.

They had a brief moment of fumbling owing to the difference in their sizes, but then Rilienus hoisted himself up onto the bench—provided, no doubt, for exactly this purpose—and that took care of that. Dorian’s fingers were eager on the placket of his trousers, and by the time he freed him from them Rilienus was already half hard from the anticipation alone.

“Goodness,” Dorian said, taking him in hand and giving his cock an experimental squeeze. “So it’s true what they say about the stoutness of dwarves.”

Rilienus sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to thrust into Dorian’s hand. “I hope you’re not intimidated,” he said, his thumb curling around his jaw.

“Oh, not at all,” Dorian said. “The opposite, you might say, in fact.” And then he bent his head and swallowed him down in a single smooth motion and Rilienus had to bite down on his knuckle to restrain a surprised shout.

“Oh—oh, fuck, yes,” he groaned. “Ohh, you’re good at that. Had lots of practice, have you?”

Dorian pulled off of him with a wet pop, lips already red and mouth smugly satisfied. “Please,” he said. “I can hardly be the only one. As if you didn’t know exactly what I meant when I suggested we come out here.”

“Hush,” Rilienus said. “The whole point was not to make a scene.” One hand was still resting against Dorian’s jaw, his thumb pressing against the corner of his lip; he buried the other in his perfectly coiffed hair, prompting a sound that was halfway between aroused and offended, and pulled him back down. Dorian went more than happily, and set to it with a will.

By the time Rilienus spilled himself into his mouth, Dorian was visibly hard, hips twitching with need against the empty air. He swallowed without hesitation, pulling back with a gasp and wiping his mouth, and before he could draw away Rilienus reeled him back in and tugged him to his feet, palming him roughly through the front of his trousers.

“Fuck,” Dorian said, letting his head thump down against Rilienus’s crown.

Rilienus hummed in his throat, pulling him down onto the bench and fitting his chest to Dorian’s back. “Oh, to be young again.”

“You are _not_ that much older than me,” Dorian said, but he was too distracted to properly take offense: Rilienus had unlaced his trousers and slipped his hand inside.

“I’m older enough,” he said. “Can you keep quiet?”

“I’m insulted that you would even ask.”

All the same, he had to muffle himself into Rilienus’s hand when he came.

They got their clothes back in order and returned to the atrium in good time, Dorian fussing with his hair the whole way. “You made a complete mess of it,” he muttered. “It’s a disaster. I’ll never be able to get it back in a reasonable order.”

“You liked it,” Rilienus said. Dorian did not correct him.

Maevaris gave them a knowing look from the other side of the room as they strolled back into the atrium, but then she rolled her eyes and smiled—so that was fine. Rilienus knew her history. She was hardly about to say anything.

* * *

**Frumentum, 9:35 Dragon**

He was working late one evening when there was a knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he called, setting his pen aside.

The door opened, and Vasilii Aratack entered. Rilienus straightened. The man was older, a distant relative who held the rank of deshyr in the Ambassadoria. He and Rilienus weren’t close, but they had worked in the same sphere for many years.

“What can I do for you, Deshyr?”

“Rilienus,” Vasilii said with a nod. “I was wondering if you were free to speak for a moment.”

“Of course.”

The deshyr closed the door behind him and came over to Rilienus’s desk, settling into the chair he kept there for visitors. “There’s a matter that has been brought to the attention of some members of the Ambassadoria,” he said.

“Is there an issue with my performance in the Magisterium?” Rilienus said. He folded his hands together, letting the stillness of the Stone sink into him.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Vasilii said. “In fact we’ve been quite pleased with the way you’ve been conducting yourself, do keep it up. No, this is something… more personal.”

“I see,” Rilienus said after a short pause.

“I don’t wish to be indelicate,” the deshyr said. He paused to consider his words—a calculated pause, no doubt, but the knowledge of what he was doing didn’t make it less effective. “We have learned that you have been involved with the Pavus heir, these last three months. Is it true?”

Rilienus almost hesitated, but he couldn’t lie to a deshyr. He knew well Tevinter’s opinions on relations between men, but as long as he was discreet, he couldn’t see how that would affect him among the dwarves of the Ambassadoria. “It is, yes.”

Vasilii nodded, seeming thoughtful. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Rilienus considered him for a moment, then said, “Am I being asked to end the liaison?”

“Oh, no!” Vasilii said, startled from his thoughts. “No, quite the contrary. We can make use of it.”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Rilienus’s stomach, but he didn’t let it show on his face as the deshyr continued. “Dorian Pavus has very good connections, not only with his family of birth but with the Alexius house as well—another Magisterium family, as I’m sure you know well. I understand his relationship with his father is strained, but he is the heir, and that counts for something,” Vasilii said. “If you can maintain this connection you’ve established, we can leverage it to promote our interests in the Magisterium. And if nothing else, having proof that the Pavus heir is involved with men could be very useful in the right hands.”

“I won’t blackmail him,” Rilienus said. He hadn’t even realized he was intending to speak.

Vasilii gave him a long, hard look. “But you _will_ be maintaining the relationship,” he said firmly. “And it will be enjoyable and amicable, so that there will be no reason to resort to blackmail.”

For a very long moment, Rilienus wanted to refuse. His relationship with Dorian was hardly serious, but it had been his, something he had, so far, been able to keep for himself. But he knew, as Vasilii did, that there was no real question of his denying the request: his appointment was more precarious than the Ambassadoria would have let on to the humans, and if he didn’t work to maintain it he could easily be stripped of his caste or at the very least removed from the position. And so he just said, “Of course, Deshyr.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Deshyr Vasilii said, all smiles again. He got to his feet. “Have a good evening, Delegate Aratack. I’ll see you at the next council meeting.”

Rilienus stared unseeing at the door for a long time after Vasilii had closed it behind him. What was he meant to do now? He could hardly tell Dorian about this—but, on the other hand, what were the chances Dorian hadn’t assumed that Rilienus already had similar intentions? And if he’d been planning on seeing Dorian again anyway, did it really matter if he now had ulterior motives? This was Tevinter, after all: everyone did.

He wasn’t sure he had quite convinced himself, but nevertheless he rang for a messenger. He had recently purchased a membership at a discreet Minrathous club that boasted, among other things, private dining rooms and a members-only bathhouse. Perhaps Dorian would like to attend as his guest.

* * *

**Eluviesta, 9:36 Dragon**

“That concludes this council session.”

Around him the deshyrs, delegates, and other members of the Ambassadoria council began getting to their feet, but Rilienus was still sorting through his notes and papers. He also didn’t want to leave just yet: he was hoping to catch Deshyr Elena Tolban on her way out. Something had struck him as odd about her latest trade contract, but it hadn’t been discussed in enough detail for him to be sure.

He got to his feet as the deshyr drew closer to his chair, already deep in conversation with her secretary. “Deshyr Elena, a moment?”

Elena looked up, then smiled genially. “Certainly, Delegate. What is it?”

“Nothing major,” Rilienus said. “I was just hoping to get a look at your new trade contract. Could you have a copy sent to my office?”

“Just take mine,” she said, extracting the packet from the stack of papers in her arms. “It’s one of several, I won’t be needing it back.”

“That’s kind of you, my thanks,” he said, adding it to his own stack. Deshyr Elena nodded to him and carried on her way; Rilienus collected up the last of his things and returned to his office.

Half an hour later, he sat back, contemplating the last page of the contract. He had combed through it twice already, and no matter how he tried to fit it together in his head, he couldn’t quite make sense of it. On the surface it didn’t seem too strange: the Ambassadoria had plenty of extremely specific trade contracts with all manner of organizations, groups, houses, and private individuals. But there was a lot of attention in this one being paid to security, and Rilienus was having trouble remembering when he had last seen so many nondisclosure clauses.

The other party—some political group, he didn’t recognize the name—wanted to pay them to move supplies, and occasionally to convey people along the same routes. The contract stipulated very clearly that the Ambassadoria would not move slaves, and indeed it didn’t seem that that was the intent; the implication was that these were members of the signatory organization who needed to travel inconspicuously.

Chewing on his lip, Rilienus flipped back to the beginning and started going through it again.

He rather suspected the Ambassadoria had signed a smuggling contract.

He set it aside before dinner, but it stayed in his thoughts all through the evening, the clauses and stipulations racing around in his head until he fell asleep. The next morning he ate a quick breakfast, then stopped in at Deshyr Elena’s office before leaving for the Magisterium.

Her secretary was sorting through a file in the anteroom. “Hello,” Rilienus said. “Is the deshyr in? I need to speak with her briefly.”

“She’s very busy, Delegate,” the secretary said, her brow creased with concern. “I can make an appointment for you later today.”

“I’ll be at the Magisterium all day,” he said. “It’ll only take a few moments of her time, I promise.”

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll check with her. Wait here, please.”

Rilienus waited in the anteroom while the secretary slipped into the deshyr’s office. There was a quiet murmur of voices, and then she emerged, holding the door for him. “She can spare five minutes.”

“Thank you,” Rilienus said, and stepped in.

Deshyr Elena was scribbling away at a sheaf of notes when he closed the door. “Make it quick, Delegate, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Of course,” he said. “I just had a quick question about the contract you gave me yesterday.”

“Oh, yes, the Venatori contract,” she said. She set her pen down and looked up at him. “What is it?”

Rilienus paused, considering the best way to phrase this. “It seems very like it’s meant to be kept secret,” he said.

“All our trade clients require discretion, Delegate Aratack, you know that.”

“Yes, of course, but most of our trade arrangements are themselves known, even if the particulars are guarded,” he said. “This one looks like it’s meant to be kept quiet entirely. I don’t want to interfere with your portfolio, Deshyr, but as the Delegate to the Magisterium I have to ask, does the Imperial Senate know about this, and would they be happy about it if they did?”

But Elena was unruffled. “We have our own interests, just as they have theirs,” she said. “What the Ambassadoria does with its trading contracts is none of the Magisterium’s concern.”

“Within the bounds of the law.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed. “I assure you, Delegate, this is entirely legal. Please, don’t worry about it. After all, I’ll be dealing with all the particulars personally.”

“Of course,” Rilienus echoed. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time.”

He saw himself out.

* * *

**Ferventis, 9:37 Dragon**

Rilienus was taking lunch at a café near the Magisterium when the messenger found him.

“Rilienus Aratack? Are you Delegate Aratack?” the boy asked.

Rilienus set his fork down. “Yes, that’s me. What’s the matter?”

“Ser, I’m sorry, ser—I’m to tell you that Thorold Tethras is dead.”

For a moment Rilienus couldn’t parse what he had just heard. The boy couldn’t have said—but then his brain caught up with his ears and he was on his feet. “Tethras? Dead? Stone below, child, what happened?”

“I don’t know, ser, I’m sorry. I heard something about an accident, but Magister Tilani didn’t say.” He swallowed, staring at Rilienus with wide eyes. “She’s asking for you. She said, please come at your earliest convenience.”

From Maevaris, that was all but a cry for help. Rilienus abandoned his lunch, told the maitre d’ to have it billed to the Ambassadoria, and practically ran to the Tilani estate.

Maevaris was in her sitting room when he arrived, hands folded to disguise their trembling, face drawn, spine straight. “Mae,” he said, crossing to her. “I’m so sorry.”

For a moment it looked like she would crumble at that, but she drew herself back together. “I do appreciate that, dear, but there’s no time right now. I have to move, to consolidate my position before my enemies can capitalize on my _shocking_ bereavement,” she said, an ironic twist to her lips.

Rilienus had suspected from the moment the messenger had said the word, but this confirmed it. “You don’t believe it was an accident, then.”

Maevaris laughed outright at that, though it was a terribly brittle sound. “Please, darling, I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. Of course it wasn’t an accident. Can I count on you to ensure the Ambassadoria respects me as the beneficiary of your agreements with Thorold?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Of course we will.” It was to their benefit to maintain contacts with members of the Magisterium, and even if it weren’t, Maevaris was a personal friend. He’d fight for her if for some unfathomable reason the Ambassadoria decided to terminate her contracts.

Maevaris sagged at that, just briefly, but then she drew the steel back in her spine. “Thank you. That’s one less thing to concern myself with.” Her voice caught, and she said, “I’ll make the arrangements to have Thorold interred, as is proper for your people.”

The funeral was held on an incongruously sunny day. Thorold’s body had been placed in a stone casket before the guests arrived—to hide the truth of whatever “accidental” injuries he had sustained, no doubt—and a small company of mages lowered it into the ground with a quiet solemnity; Maevaris herself cast the spell that sealed him into the rock. Rilienus was in attendance as an official representative of the Ambassadoria, and was one of those invited to retire to Maevaris’s home for a private memorial at the close of the public funeral. Dorian was there as well; in fact, he had barely left Maevaris’s side all day, sticking close to her in uncharacteristic silence.

He caught Rilienus alone when he stepped out into the garden for a moment of air, lightly touching his shoulder to alert him to his presence even though Rilienus had already started turning towards him. Dorian withdrew his hand, seeming at a loss, then said, “I’m sorry.”

Rilienus blinked. “For what?”

“About Thorold,” Dorian clarified. “He was your friend as well.”

“Oh,” Rilienus said, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “Yes, he was. But—you learn to distance yourself. The Ambassadoria has never been easy on honest friendships.”

Dorian laughed, soft and bitter. “No. Nor the Magisterium; none of Tevinter is.”

Rilienus was silent, tipping his head back to look up at Dorian. For a moment the weight of the expectations they bore was suffocating. He wanted to reach out to Dorian, to draw him down into his arms, but—but—

“Mae believes it was her fault he died,” Dorian said.

That startled Rilienus from his thoughts. “What?”

“That whoever targeted him did it to get to her,” Dorian said. “I’m sure you must have heard enough stories of her ascent to the Magisterium. Her father was killed as well, you know.”

“Yes,” Rilienus said quietly. He hated to think of it—of people’s lives being spent merely to get a brief political advantage over someone who cared for them—but that was the reality of Tevinter. “You’ll look after her, won’t you?”

“I?” Dorian said, almost laughing. “I suppose I’ll try, but I’m hardly in the best position to serve as a political _shield_ , of all things.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to look after each other.”

Dorian looked down at him, his head tilted just slightly as he considered Rilienus’s face. “And what about you?”

 _They asked me to take advantage of your connections,_ Rilienus didn’t say, and, _I think the Ambassadoria is up to something troubling_ , and, _I don’t like the whispers I’ve been hearing out of the Magisterium’s fringe factions_. “I’ll be careful,” he said.

When he finally left that evening, Maevaris caught up with him at the front door. “Rilienus, before you go—”

“What is it?”

Her face twisted up for a moment, then she gestured to a nearby vestibule. “Could we speak briefly? There was something I wanted to mention.”

“Of course,” Rilienus said, and followed her into the chamber.

She turned to look at him there, her gaze very frank. “Thorold died because he was involved with me,” she began, only the faintest tremor in her voice betraying that she was speaking of a man they had buried only that afternoon. “Because I’ve always been a slap in the face to the Magisterium’s traditions, and they wanted to hurt me. Because I’m trying to drag my poor stupid beloved country in a positive direction for once, and that makes enemies.”

“Mae, please,” Rilienus said. “Don’t blame yourself—”

“No,” Maevaris said, and for a moment she looked dreadfully fragile, like the only thing holding her together was the sheer strength of her will. “No. That’s not the point I was trying to make. I know I’m not responsible, and I’m going to make the bastards who are wish they’d never heard my name. No,” she repeated, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. “What I wanted to address is…”

She paused then, taking a moment to collect her thoughts, and said quietly, “There are certain groups out there that would do anything to return Tevinter to some imagined past glory, a vision of the future in which people like me—like us—would have no part. So please,” she said, “darling, for your own sake—please do take care of associating with them too closely. I wouldn’t want to see where that could lead you.”

Just what did she know of what the Ambassadoria was up to? Rilienus swallowed around the yawning pit of worry that had taken up permanent residence in his stomach and said, “I’ll do what I can, Mae. Thank you for the warning.”

Maevaris reached out then, straightening the line of his collar, her fingers lingering in a touch that seemed both reassurance and stabilization. “Maker watch over you, Rilienus.”

* * *

**Matrinalis, 9:37 Dragon**

Rilienus was jolted from sleep by an urgent knock at his door.

“Just a moment,” he called, throwing back the blankets and groping around in the dark for a robe. He shrugged it on and lit one of the lamps, then crossed to the door and tugged it open. “What’s going on?”

The messenger on the other side looked suitably apologetic at having roused him in the middle night. “Delegate Aratack. I’m sorry to wake you, but we’ve caught an intruder. He says he’s a friend of yours.”

Rilienus frowned. “Describe him.”

“Human,” the messenger said. “Tall, brown-skinned. Nice moustache. He talks like an Altus. He’s also, er, pretty drunk.”

Rilienus pinched the bridge of his nose and resisted the urge to groan. “I know him. Bring him to my room. And treat him kindly, he’s a magister’s son.”

The messenger saluted. “Yes, ser.”

While the messenger went to fetch Dorian, Rilienus took a moment to make himself presentable, pulling on a pair of trousers and retying his robe properly. He was lighting the rest of the lamps when there was a second knock and Dorian strolled in, saying in a voice that was only a shade shy of slurring, “Your guards took my wine. Very inconsiderate of them, really.”

Rilienus had seen Dorian drinking often enough to know that his tolerance was frankly absurd; if he wasn’t speaking clearly, he must have drunk an astonishing amount. “You’ve had quite enough, I think,” he said.

Dorian laughed, almost choking on the bitterness. “Oh, no, my friend, I think you’ll find I haven’t had nearly enough.”

Rilienus pursed his lips, looking back to the messenger who was still hovering anxiously in the doorway. “Thank you. I’ll ring if I need anything.”

“Delegate,” the messenger said, and pulled the door closed.

Rilienus turned back to Dorian, who had collapsed in a fashionable sprawl on the divan. “What are you doing here, Dorian? It’s the middle of the night.”

Dorian snorted. “I came to see you, of course. What kind of question is that?”

“So you decided to try sneaking in?” Rilienus said. “In case it escaped your notice, the Ambassadoria is underground. We control all the entrances. You wouldn’t have been able to manage it even if you weren’t blind drunk.”

“I wanted to see you,” Dorian repeated, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “You did say I was welcome. Or were you intending to rescind that as well?”

“What are you talking about?” Rilienus said. He came over to the divan, catching Dorian’s hand. “Come on, sit up. Of course you’re welcome, I simply would have appreciated some warning.”

“Well, I’m here now, so why don’t we make the best of it?”

With Dorian seated in front of him, he was barely half a head shorter than Rilienus. Now he draped his arms over his shoulders and tugged him down into a messy kiss. For a moment Rilienus allowed it, sinking into the familiarity of Dorian’s mouth, but then he forced himself to pull back.

“Not that that doesn’t sound like a lovely time, but it really is late, and I have to be at the Ambassadoria tomorrow morning,” he said. “And you are _very_ drunk. Why don’t you go home, and I’ll come by tomorrow night? I can have one of the guards escort you.”

But Dorian had drawn back at his words, and now he laughed bitterly again. “Go home. No, no, that won’t do at all.”

“Alright, what’s going on?” Rilienus knew Dorian sometimes had a tendency towards casual irresponsibility, but… “This isn’t like you.”

With some difficulty, Dorian extracted himself from Rilienus’s arms, staggering to his feet and planting one hand on his hips in a grand gesture. “As it happens,” he said, “I am no longer welcome in the Alexius household.”

Rilienus felt like something had knocked him sideways. For a brief, shameful moment, his only thought was the dread at what the Ambassadoria would ask of him when they found out Dorian had lost his connection to a major household. He pushed it aside. “Dorian—what?! What happened? I thought you were close to them.”

“Oh, yes, I certainly _was_ ,” Dorian said, flinging his arm out in a move not nearly as controlled as it would normally have been. “But dear Gereon has other priorities now, you see. Felix is quite at peace with his inevitable fate, but will he listen? Of course not.”

With a sudden clarity, Rilienus remembered hearing about Livia Alexius’s death earlier that year, and the illness her son had been stricken with in that same attack. “I don’t see why that should lead to you being turned out of their household. Isn’t Felix your friend?”

Dorian swallowed at that, his haughty aggression crumbling away in favour of the distress that was sitting just beneath it. “I—yes. Yes. Felix is… the best of us. But Gereon remains the head of the household, so…,” he said, trailing off with a grandiose shrug. “He’s desperate, you see. He’s working himself to the bone, chasing impossible leads by less and less savoury methods. And now he’s gone and allied himself with _those_ people.”

“Okay, I’m going to need a name, Dorian. Which people?”

“You know,” Dorian said, waving a hand carelessly and having to catch himself on the divan when he overbalanced. “Blighted idiots, the lot of them. They’re going to drag Tevinter back to its glory days of demons and blood magic.”

In his words Rilienus heard an echo of the warning Maevaris had given him at Thorold’s funeral and had a horrible suspicion. “Do you mean the Venatori?”

“That’s the one,” Dorian said, still focused largely on not listing to the side. “They can’t cure Felix, of course. No one can. But Gereon would do anything for the promise of saving his son, never mind what he has to destroy to do it. And I—well, let’s just say I disapproved. So here we are.”

 _Oh, the Ambassadoria is not going to like this_ , Rilienus thought. Bad enough, from their view, that Dorian had lost access to the Alexius family. Worse, if he was willing to fight to the breaking point on the subject of one of their major trading partners. And if Dorian found out the Ambassadoria had willingly brokered a deal with the Venatori…

“Dorian, I’m sorry, but you really ought to go,” Rilienus found himself saying.

“Weren’t you listening to me?” Dorian said acidly. “Where, exactly, do you propose I go to?”

“You’re an Altus. This is Minrathous. You’re hardly without options.” He was barely thinking about the words coming out of his mouth—he just knew he had to get Dorian out before everything came crashing down.

Dorian straightened slowly, his face unusually open. “I had thought—at least for one night…”

“It’s not a good idea,” Rilienus said, as gently as he could make himself.

Dorian’s expression slammed shut. “Fine,” he snapped. “I suppose if I’m going to be turned out of all my friends’ homes, I may as well put it all into one night. What do you think, should I go get kicked out of Mae’s next?”

“Dorian, don’t, it’s not like that—”

“Is it not?” he said, then collected himself, inhaling sharply through his nose. “But—no. It’s fine. If you won’t allow me to stay with you, there are plenty of places that will be happy to rent me a room. Perhaps by the hour.”

That didn’t sting—Rilienus had never minded if Dorian slept with other people—but he could tell it was meant to, and _that_ did sting. “Just—don’t do anything rash. Please. Find somewhere to stay for a while, sober up, and figure out what you’re going to do next.”

But Dorian was laughing, shaking his head. “Oh, no. I’m done trying to play the dutiful son. All my efforts have come to naught in any case.” He focused on Rilienus then, his eyes intent despite the haze of drink still clouding them. “I don’t know why I tried.”

The unease was practically a physical thing in Rilienus’s gut; he felt like he’d be sick if he so much as opened his mouth. For the first time he could remember he could feel hatred boiling up in him—at the fact of the things he wouldn’t say, and at himself, for refusing to say them. If this was what Tevinter did—if this was what it was—perhaps it might have been better just to burn it all down and salt the ashes.

“Dorian, wait. Please—”

“No, I don’t think so,” Dorian said, and stalked—only slightly unsteady—over to the door. “You’ve made your desires perfectly clear.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

**Pluitanis, 9:38 Dragon**

It was six months before Rilienus saw Dorian again.

His disappearance had been abrupt, and more complete than Rilienus had expected. At first he’d thought that Dorian was merely avoiding him after their fight, but he had almost immediately discarded that notion: Dorian was the type to make a snub as visible as possible. For him to just vanish like this—

Well, Rilienus had grown used to the constant miasma of unease. This was just one more futile concern for the pile.

It was when he stopped by Maevaris’s one night that he at last learned the answer. It had been intended as a fairly routine visit—just dropping off some paperwork about new trade tariffs—but when the house slave showed him to her sitting room, he could hear the strains of conversation drifting down the hall through the open doorway.

“I’m going to need to get a couple more people on my side if I want to have any shot at blocking the latest bill,” Maevaris was saying.

“You could try Aeodatus,” said a male voice that Rilienus was astonished to recognize as Dorian’s. “And perhaps Renata. The one with the cane, I mean, not Renata Galerius. Ordinarily I might suggest my father, despite our differences, but…”

“No,” Maevaris agreed. “Under the circumstances, there’s certainly no need for that.”

“If only we could get a sense of their numbers,” Dorian said. “Or their resources! They have some way of moving across the border that avoids the more observable routes, it’s driving me mad.”

The house slave knocked on the doorframe to announce Rilienus then, and they cut their conversation short—but it was with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what it had been about that Rilienus entered the room.

Maevaris and Dorian were in conference there, both tucked up comfortably on the couches in the casual sort of clothing the Alti wore in a private household. There was an open bottle of wine on the table between them, and a platter of bread, grapes, and sliced hard cheeses sat within easy reach.

“Rilienus!” Maevaris said, rising gracefully to her feet. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

Rilienus took her hand and bowed over it briefly. “I just had some new information about the trade tariffs I wanted to bring by. Hello, Mae, Dorian,” he said, nodding to Dorian. “I haven’t seen you in some time.”

Dorian had gone briefly still on seeing him, but now he tossed his head in a parody of haughtiness that he hadn’t used on Rilienus in years. “So sorry to have inconvenienced you,” he said breezily. “I was—let’s call it ‘indisposed.’”

Rilienus swallowed down his hurt. If Dorian wanted to snub him, he certainly had no right to complain. “I’m happy to see myself out, since you already have a guest.”

“Why’s that, dear?” Maevaris said, her eyes on him entirely too shrewd as she resettled herself on the couch. “Is there some reason you two wouldn’t be willing to spend time together?”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Dorian said, before Rilienus could respond. “I’m not a guest. Or rather, I am, but of a somewhat more permanent sort than is usual. It would hardly do for me to prevent Mae from visiting with anyone while she has so graciously opened her home to me.”

That was a pointed shot. Rilienus didn’t wince; he had deserved it. “Are you staying with Mae, then? I didn’t see you the last time I came by.”

Maevaris began to say something, but Dorian spoke up before she could reply. “A recent development. I’ll only be staying here until I can make other arrangements, I don’t want to impose,” he said, with the air of a man who had made this exact argument several times already this week.

As expected, Maevaris provided the rebuttal when she said, “You are perfectly welcome to impose for as long as you please.”

“I’m well aware,” Dorian said gently, “but I don’t want to make trouble for you. You’ve got enough to worry about from the Magisterium, and have suffered enough for it already.”

There was, quite clearly, a greater issue buried under the surface of their words, but it was hardly Rilienus’s business to inquire. “I’m glad to see you well,” he said, and was rewarded by the brief flash of astonishment that crossed Dorian’s face at his evident sincerity. “I really was only intending to drop off these papers, though, so I’ll leave you to it.” He eased the stack on trade tariffs out of his bag, setting them on the table, and then bowed to them both. “Have a pleasant evening.”

He was already halfway down the hall when he heard Dorian excusing himself to Maevaris and coming after him.

“I wanted to apologize,” Dorian said without preamble when he caught up to Rilienus. “For my behaviour the last time we saw each other. I’ve had rather a lot of time to think on it these past few months, and—well, I was in a poor state, but I needn’t have accused you of abandoning me. You have as many reasons to be circumspect as I.”

Rilienus stared up at him, stricken into silence by the sheer weight of all the secrets he was keeping. _I know how the Venatori are moving their supplies_ , he wanted to say, but his voice failed him, and then Dorian was forging onward through the awkward silence before he could summon up his nerve.

“I had intended to rebuff you publicly for a bit, but it wasn’t in my plans to disappear,” he said. “I am… gratified, to hear that you were concerned for me. I wanted to assure you that it had nothing to do with you. You’re not at fault.”

If anything, that only made his shame worse. “I am sorry as well,” Rilienus said. For more things than he could possibly list. “It was unkind to ask you to leave when you had already been turned out of your home. I’ve regretted it sorely since then.”

“Well,” Dorian said, with the slight curve of a smile, “as long as we’re both so very apologetic.”

Rilienus hesitated. “Dorian,” he said slowly, “are you alright?”

For a moment Dorian made no reply, and then his shoulders slumped. “No, not really,” he said, “but it can’t be helped. I’ll manage.” He paused again, then, seeming to steel himself, lifted a hand to rest it against Rilienus’s jaw and the curl of his beard. “And if you should like to see me again sometime, I can be reached at Mae’s for the time being.”

Rilienus raised his hand as well, covering Dorian’s fingers with his own, and watched with a guilty joy the relief that suffused his form at the gesture. “I’d like that,” he said. “Just, next time you come by the Ambassadoria, give me a little advance warning. And perhaps consider using the front door.”

Dorian laughed at that, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course,” he said. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

**Cassus, 9:38 Dragon**

“Please do consider our offer,” said the lead Venatori representative, a polite, smooth-voiced man by the name of Paulus Nimian. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Rilienus was seated at the side of the room, out of the main line of conversation: he was there largely in the capacity of a witness whose work might be impacted by a new contract. He hadn’t been in charge of brokering it, and wasn’t authorized to voice dissent in front of the humans: the Ambassadoria’s policy was to present a unified front at all costs.

He had bitten his tongue nearly bloody over the course of the presentation. These people were making his teeth itch. If it had been up to him, the Ambassadoria would have already rejected the deal out of hand.

But of course Deshyr Elena wouldn’t do that. “We will be certain to consider your deal carefully, Altus,” she said. “Please, arrange a meeting with my secretary for next week. We can discuss our final decision then.”

“Of course, Deshyr,” Nimian said, bowing fluidly. “We look forward to hearing what you decide.”

The secretary escorted the group out, carefully pulling the door closed behind her. The room was silent for long seconds while the dwarves of the Ambassadoria waited to be sure the Venatori were out of earshot—and then it exploded.

“We can’t seriously be considering this!” shouted Deshyr Ratimir through the noise. “Refuse them and have done with it!”

“Don’t be so hasty,” said Deshyr Militsa. “Perhaps we can bargain them back down. We could still find a workable advantage in this.”

“They want a direct line on the lyrium supply!” retorted Ratimir. “There is nothing about that that isn’t suspicious. What do you think they want it for?”

“Whatever it is,” put in Deshyr Vasilii, “it isn’t our concern.”

“Bullshit,” said Representative Dalibor. “We have a responsibility.”

“It’s hardly any worse than what we’ve already been doing,” said Deshyr Aegidius. “I didn’t hear you objecting then.”

“Moving supplies and escorting people is different from _selling lyrium!_ ”

Rilienus entirely lost track of the argument after that. He held his tongue as around him the council continued shouting, gathering up the notes he had made and stepping over to Deshyr Elena to quietly request a copy of the proposed contract.

Elena nodded, handing one off to him from a stack of several copies she’d had prepared. “I would value your input,” she said, raising her voice slightly over the din. “I think this could be very profitable if we can arrange things to our satisfaction.”

Rilienus bit down on his tongue again. “I’ll let you know what I think.”

He escaped the cacophony of the council chamber and returned to his office, laying the notes and the contract down on his desk with a sigh—and only then noticed Dorian sitting in his guest chair, one of Rilienus’s books open across his lap.

“By the Paragons,” he cursed. “Did the meeting run late? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“No, you didn’t,” Dorian said. “I got here a bit early.”

His hands were very tense, digging into the edges of the book as he stared up at Rilienus.

“Then what’s wrong?” Rilienus said.

Dorian said nothing for a moment, and then: “I saw Paulus Nimian on my way in. He’s one of the Venatori, isn’t he?”

Rilienus’s stomach dropped.

Up until then, Dorian had still been looking at him as though he expected Rilienus to say it wasn’t what he assumed, but in that moment he saw the truth. He shoved the book from his lap. “Kaffas. The Ambassadoria is dealing with the Venatori,” he said, getting to his feet. “How could you do this, Ril? You _know_ what they are!”

“It’s not something I have a say in,” Rilienus said, raising his hands in defence.

But Dorian wouldn’t give ground. He stalked over to the desk, snatching up the meeting notes before Rilienus could shove them aside. His eyes scanned the first page, and then he went pale, rounding on him. “Are you _selling them lyrium?!_ ”

“It’s just a proposal. We haven’t signed anything yet. Dorian, please—”

“But you’re in talks. You’re taking it seriously,” Dorian said. He passed a hand over his eyes. “You’re going to help them drag Tevinter back to the days of the Dreamers.”

“If it wasn’t the Ambassadoria, they’d get it some other way,” Rilienus said. “Isn’t it better to control their supply—”

“Don’t,” Dorian said, his voice as sharp as Rilienus had ever heard it, “don’t you _dare_. Tell me, how long has this been going on for? What else are you doing for them? Just moving cargo, or are you selling slaves? Trafficking in blood magic? Smuggling? Oh, venhedis,” he said. “This is it. This is how they’ve been concealing their movements. You _knew_ Mae and I were trying to figure that out—how could you have kept this from us?”

Rilienus could feel the conversation spiralling out of his control, but he had no idea how to right it. On one level this felt simply inevitable; they had been building towards this revelation for nearly three years. “You’re not members of the Ambassadoria,” he said. “You don’t have the right to hear the details of sensitive trade agreements.”

“The _right_ ,” Dorian said disgustedly, throwing the notes back down on the desk. “Of course. So, you’d rather keep your silence than do the right thing. In the end you’re just like all the rest.” He seemed to crumple at that, hands clenching in the robes at his sides. “I thought you could be different,” he said. “That we could…”

“Dorian, please,” Rilienus said softly. “Don’t do this.”

But Dorian laughed at that, a wild, half-hysterical sound. “No, of course not,” he said. “Mustn’t rock the boat.”

What could he _say?_ Rilienus had never wanted this, had felt the unease gnawing at him from the first time he had ever heard of the Venatori’s contract, but he had spent so long struggling to live with it that now he couldn’t seem to come up for air. “You need to go.”

Dorian contemplated him for a long moment, then drew himself up slowly, his shoulders settling into a resolute defiance that looked so—so _right_ on him, as if he had been born for exactly this fight. “So is that it?” he said, and though his voice was low, there was adamant in it. “This is the line we’re drawing between us at last?”

Rilienus said nothing—sure, so sure, that a single word would be his undoing.

Dorian almost cracked at that. Rilienus could see it in him, could see the question in the shape of his lips, and he found himself fervently wishing for it, for Dorian to throw him a rope, save him from drowning, to just give him the push he needed to come around—

But then his expression shuttered, and the flame of hope in Rilienus’s breast went out.

“Well,” Dorian said. “I suppose that’s the end of things. Fine. Do enjoy the rest of your evening, Rilienus.” And then he swept out of the office, and out of Rilienus’s life.

Rilienus sat down at his desk, staring unseeing at the contract Deshyr Elena had handed him. Eventually, he put his head in his hands.

And around him, the world went to ruin.


End file.
